Adversity and Idealism
by CrazyCakeCandle
Summary: Some people are wondrous, amazing, and destined to shape the world. Some people are just moths that get drawn towards that light. But that may also be a form of destiny, and Bess Wellings is about to find out just how strong that pull is. (OC Story)


**Chapter One:**

 _There was a light, and it was the warmest, most gentle light I had ever seen. Somehow it seemed to fill my heart with inspiration and determination. Gazing into the soft rays which rained forth, I found myself ensnared, entranced, as though I were naught but a moth, fluttering helplessly. That light, which was the rich, golden glow of a summer evening, bathed my soul. It could not be compared to any I had ever seen, such was its tender magnificence._

 _However, as I stared toward the light I found my soul weeping. At first I could not discover why I grieved, knew not the source of my tears which welled up from some secret place hidden inside me. I found myself searching the radiance before me, in need of an answer to my mourning. What I discovered was the delicate whisper of a goodbye. It was then that I realized no matter how much I fluttered my little moth wings, that light was as out of reach as the stars winking at me in the sky. I was saddened to know that I could never stand directly in that warmth._

 _I often wondered at the loneliness, for even those who got so close that their fingers singed, never could stand by the source of the light. Instead, that golden being which cast out such an ethereal shine existed as a sole person, completely individualistic; He was the centre of everything, but isolated from it all. It broke my heart to see that He would be forever cursed by such a heart breaking fate._

 _I was only young the first time I discovered this pearl of tragedy. It was because of this, that I made the decision to chase after that melancholy evening sun, that boy with the light of heaven seeping from His very core. Even if I could never reach Him, at least if I constantly stood at the edge of His luminescence maybe He could look back, and He would know that someone was there, always. This was the silent vow I made to myself, and to Him, my King._

I grinned in the background, amused as I watched the blonde boy, William Twining, detail his plans for the glorious future he had planned, his sharp emerald eyes gleaming. Whenever I saw him, he seemed to be caught in the midst of imagining the great things that lay in store for him, so much so that it had become somewhat comical. Of course, with a name as prestigious as Twining, it was not altogether unrealistic to imagine that the world is at your feet. In fact, ambition is something of an admirable quality. All the same, I couldn't help but smile at the boy's bright enthusiasm.

I glanced at the bulletin board William Twining was standing in front of, and would have begun to clap if I could have. Once again the intelligent young master had placed first in the rankings. It seemed his destiny was to be first, the most successful and fortunate among all of us.

Well, them. The metaphorical contest was really only between the students that attended the academy. They were the sons of the wealthy and affluent, and society whole-heartedly expected that they would become our fine nation's leading contributors. Even if I had wanted to count as one of them, I never would. I was lucky enough to even work in the kitchens of a school with such a high standing.

With a sigh I turned to head back to my chores. I knew that I really should not have snuck off to catch the results of the exams in the first place, but I wanted to see how that quirky young master would do. Now I had to hurry to the kitchens before anyone noticed that I was missing, and that there were potatoes still left to peel and chop. They were bound to get grumpy with me, and I knew for a fact that the students hated the food here as it was, without having to suffer the ire of the cooking staff being taken out on them.

 _It is sad to turn away._

I paused, and glanced about curiously for the source of the whisper. None of the students here would address me, and there were no other servants about, so hearing a young man's voice so close came as something of a surprise. There was no one, as I thought, and I felt an uneasy chill down my spine. In a big, old building like this one there were numerous ghost stories. Sometimes the servants would get together and share their own tales of eery shadows stalking the halls, and the creaking of footsteps when not another soul was about. Perhaps this had made me a little paranoid.

I hurried away, eager to step into the rich warmth of the kitchens.

The air was filled with the thick scent of spices and roasting meat-or burning meat. The head cook always had a tendency to let his main dish cook for a little too long. For a moment I stood still in the doorway, and closed my eyes. All around me I could hear the loud voices, the clatter and bang of pots, and the steady bubble of stew. It filled me with a sense of belonging, a knowing that I was right where I was supposed to be. This sensation was short-lived, but I did not mind. It was moments of contentment such as these that I lived for, and the reason why the kitchens comforted me so.

Here, I was surrounded by the thrum of life. It was familiar and although it was hectic, it was warm and made me think of the embrace of a mother, her arms filled with the scent of fresh bread and warm milk. When I got swallowed up by the chaotic dance that seemed impossibly elegant, I felt a surge of happiness. When I was here I knew my place, and it was simple, safe. I was surrounded by something like family, and even though we got frustrated and grumpy we were like comrades. It seemed kind of dramatic when I thought about it, but I could not stop smiling anyway, encased by a nostalgic joy.

 _It is a warmth I have long forgotten..._

I gasped, pulled out of my silly daydreams by cool fingers of an eery draft across my arms, carrying with them the breath of a promise. Who was it that I was hearing? Had I lost my mind?

"Ms. Wellings!"

I spun, suddenly eager to be out of my own mind. "Yes, Mr. Gordon?" Standing there with a rueful smile was my supervisor, the ever energetic cook. He was a middle aged man, his skin a deep red from spending days in front of hot ovens and steaming pots, and a permanently singed beard.

"My dear," he began in his loud, booming voice "I understand you must worship the kitchen, if you don't want the little people of the hearth getting angry, but the vegetables aren't going to peel themselves." He was also an oddly superstitious man, with an old belief in tiny fairies that could affect the mundane gears of our day-to-day life.

My cheeks warmed, as I quickly became embarrassed at having gotten caught procrastinating. "Yes sir, sorry sir!"

He shook his head, eyebrows raising. "You are a strange child Bess Wellings." That was not really something I wanted to be hearing from a fully grown man who still left milk on the windowsill, and kept bread crumbs in his pockets. "Hurry up then girl, I don't want to have a heard of savage boys coming into my kingdom, rooting about for scraps."

"Don't worry about that Mr. Gordon, I'll be finished up in no time at all." I nod at him and hurry away.

Since the school was closing for a short break, I was also allowed to return home for a few days. It was something I anxiously anticipated, given that I had not seen my father in several months, and I knew what that meant. My father was not much of one for cooking, and although I had ordered him to make sure he got his three square, I knew he was bound to be rake thin when I finally saw him.

Given that our house was settled on the edge of a small farming community not five miles from my place of work, I suppose I could have visited more often, but once I had settled in my quarters at the school it seemed I had never gotten the time, or really thought about asking for a day off. I always just figured I would go home on holidays, and that would be that. It was a little strange, I realized once I was away from the school, that I had nestled in so well. Before I had left for the first time, I had been pretty miserable about leaving my father and everything I knew behind. I seemed to have done a complete flip, and it took my father sending nagging letters to Mr. Gordon to remind me that I should really try and stay in contact more.

I stood at the gate to our home, wondering if my father was any bit angry at me, and feeling a little bit guilty for placing this large part of my childhood to the back of my mind.

My footsteps crunched on the gravel path, and I almost cringed, afraid that the barest sound might trigger the appearance of my father, and the subsequent lecture bound to follow. Sure enough, by the time I made it to the front stoop, I could hear pounding footsteps from within, and in seconds the door was swinging open so fast that it made my hair swish across my eyes. As a result I did not have time to leap out of the way my father grabbed me in a bear hug, and proceeded to sob dramatically about how I had abandoned him. Really, it was quite over the top, though I had to admit that I was used to it.

Eventually I was allowed inside, plonked down in an armchair, and rained with questions.

"Why haven't you written?"

"Sorry, fath-"

"Do you have any idea how worried I was?"

"Father, let-"

"None of those nasty boys have bothered you have they?"

"What are you-"

"You look tired, have you been sleeping properly? You know if you do not get enough rest you could collapse. It is very important for young ladies-"

"Papa!" That got his attention. "I really am sorry, I never meant to neglect you Papa. I've been busy, yes, but I am fine. Actually I have been really happy."

His warm brown eyes softened. "Darling, I am glad your back, even if it is only for a short while." This time is voice was soft, and he patted my hand gently, as if to assure himself that I really was there. Ever since my mother had passed away, father had been like this; he desperately tried to be happy, no doubt thinking he was being strong for me, but occasionally he slipped up, and I could see just how forlorn he was. I knew it was hard for him that I was growing up, and he no longer had me to distract him, something to be strong for.

"Me too, Papa, me too." I reached forward, brushing back his hair slightly so that I could see the grey streaks which had grown more numerous in the past four months, and wondered just how hard my father had been trying.

The moment was broken when my father started to coo in a ridiculously high pitched voice. "Oh look how beautiful our baby girl has gotten Helena! You'd be so proud of her! She all grown up and cooking up big meals all on her own! She's just as good as you were!"

"Papa!"

Evening had fallen, and I decided it was time for supper. I had been right, father looked suspiciously gaunt.

"Hi, Mum." I whispered a quiet greeting under my breath as I began to tie my apron. "Papa got quite upset at me for leaving for so long. I'm a little worried about him, you know. He is very good at acting like the same old Papa, but I can see it in his eyes. He's tired Mum, and lonely. Sometimes I think I'm the only reason he has not given up yet. It's like he still can't find a reason now that you're not here."

The only response I got was silence, as usual. I sighed and rolled up my sleeves. "Tomorrow I think I will need to do some dusting. I don't think he uses this place much. He probably lives off eggs and bread. There are dishes everywhere too. I bet you would be horrified. I wish I could take better care of your kitchen, but I'm trying to make a life for myself. Even though I think Papa still needs to be Papa, I need to move forward. It's strange, but something in my gut is telling me that I can no longer stay..." I hesitated, because it was a strange sensation that I was trying to give voice to. "Still. The same. Something has to… change."

The coals were cold, and I had to chop fresh would before I could get the oven going. Somehow it seemed to mirror the quiet chill I felt at my own admittance.

"What do you do when you feel like there is something waiting for you, but you don't know what it is? I'm a little scared Mum. Is this what growing up is?" I murmured idly as I watched a tiny flame flicker to life.

I knew I was contradicting myself. I said I wanted to move forward, but I did not know how, and I was scared. I did not even know why I wanted to move forward. Even though my mother's death had been a bad thing, and there seemed an ever present blanket of sadness, my childhood had not been a bad one. In fact, it had been rather easy.

"Bess?"

I glanced over my shoulder to find my father standing there, leaning against the doorway. I could not see his face though. "Yes, Papa?"

"I... Do you remember that pendant I gave you after your mother died? Do you still have it?" His voice was strained, as if it took all of his strength to push the words passed his lips. I wondered if he was about to cry.

"The pendant?" I stood up and turned to face him properly. "Yes, I do." I pulled it out from under my collar. It was a simple brass circle with some elegant vines etched into the front. It was about the size of a shilling, but oddly thick. "You know, I was thinking... It seems more like a locket. I cannot get it to open though, and I don't see a hinge."

My father chuckled, and it sounded sort of watery. "Maybe it is. Your mother never really talked about it, even though she wore it all the time." His eyes caught on the pendant, and seemed to cling to it, as though for just an instant he might see his dead wife standing there, enveloped by the glow of the stove, and the tang of drying garlic.

"Well maybe not," I answered, eyeing the necklace curiously.

"I'm... Glad. It makes me happy to know that you have it with you. I don't know why, but your mother always seemed to protect it like it was her family's prize heirloom. When... She passed, I almost kept it for myself, but I got this strange feeling it would be better off with you."

I was surprised. For all that my father could be silly, and childish, he could hardly be counted as a believer of anything that seemed at all out of the ordinary. "Well, I promise to keep it safe." With that my father nodded, as if deeming the matter settled. I did not fail to notice how he hesitated though.

"Then, I'll be in my study," he whispered stiffly, before heading back indoors. "Don't cook up anything too elaborate. This is supposed to be your break, you know." He smile seemed tense.

I mumbled a vague reply, already turning my attention back to prepping for dinner.

The first day back, and I was completely distracted. After that conversation we had, things had been uncomfortably tense between my father and I. He continued to behave as though there was more that he wished to tell, but every time I thought he was going to speak up, he would wander off to his study and lock himself in there for hours.

In the end I had concluded he was simply having difficulty dealing with the fact that I was growing up, surviving on my own, and did not need my papa to take care of me anymore. Instead, I found myself thinking about the pendant. My father had mentioned that my mother had always worn it, which came as a surprise to me. I had never seen it on her, and when I had received it as a child, I had always assumed it was just a cheap bit of jewelry mom had kept, and that dad wanted me to have something of hers, but since I was so young, he didn't want it to be anything really expensive.

It was also the unfortunate source of my distraction. For whatever reason, no matter how long I thought about it, it really did seem more like a locket than anything, yet I could not figure out anyway that it would open. As such it brought all sorts of questions to mind. The constant weight on my neck also reminded me of my father, alone in that empty, cold house. It made me feel guilty to leave him like that for my own selfish reasons.

These were the things that left me unfocused, wandering about the hallways of the great school without paying attention to where I was going. I was supposed to be looking for one of our new girls, who seemed to have an abhorrent tendency for wandering off and not showing up until after the work was done. Unfortunately no one seemed to know where she was, and I had already spent the better part of the day searching. It was very nearly dark out.

I turned the corner, sighing heavily, and abruptly slammed into someone.

"Oh!" I gasped, stumbling backward, at the same time that the person I had run into reached out and caught me by my arms. "Goodness, sorry about that! I-" I looked up and was met with eerily rich coloured eyes, like wine.

You are here too. I guess we both are unable to stop that draw to the light.

Suddenly I felt as if mother's pendant would break my neck, it grew so heavy. I clutched at it, shocked by the sudden sensation.

"Oi! Are you alright?"

I stared up at those red eyes, heart thundering in my chest. There was something familiar...

"Who are you?" I muttered, without thinking.

In response, his eyes squinted. I realized he was a student, and had the horrible feeling I had just overstepped my boundaries as a servant.

"Sorry," I gasped again, quickly stumbling back and bobbing a curtsy. It had to be a pretty ungraceful one, since I was trying in vain to lift the heavy weight from around my neck.

Those rich coloured eyes lowered, and focused on the necklace I was clutching tightly, and then the boy spoke. "Who are _you_?"

* * *

 ** _A/N: Hello! I finally got around to editing the things I said I would. Like I said, not much has changed, but it'll affect how the future goes a bit. One, the opening monologue is NOT narrated by Bess. Two, she now works in the kitchens instead of the gardens, which isn't so important, just that it felt a little less cheesy somehow, and the reason for her being a gardener is no longer relevant. Also, I thought it'd be interesting once we get introduced to Dantalion and Sytry's chefs. Three, she already had her pendant, and has for a long time. Instead of being mysteriously cold and then getting hot, it just gets really heavy. Also, the design is different. Fourth, she somehow seems to recognizes Dantalion, but he doesn't know her so much, just that there's something about her presence which is peculiar. She IS NOT A REINCARNATION! It will be explained in the story, of course._**

 ** _So tell me what you think. To new readers, does this seem interesting? Are you curious? To old readers, are you disappointed? Does this still seem interesting? Also, I might be thinking about seeking out a Beta Reader..._**


End file.
